


Hannibal’s Best Friend

by ExecutiveEspressoDepresso



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, No beta we perish like Antony dimmond, One Shot, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExecutiveEspressoDepresso/pseuds/ExecutiveEspressoDepresso
Summary: Hannibal talks about his past while enjoying his present with Will
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Hannibal’s Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Very short fluff piece. I literally just wanted an excuse to write them being gay in a short one shot. Just let them be happy y’all. And if it’s in a less than 2k word one shot that’s their business

“I had a best friend once.”

Will looked up from his book, The Iliad which Hannibal had insisted on him reading despite Will’s admonishments, to stare at Hannibal in surprise and mild alarm.

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the declaration. It didn’t appear as if Hannibal had any desire to elaborate, not looking up from his sketchbook which he had been slaving over for the past couple hours. Despite the darkness outside, Hannibal seemed perfectly capable of drawing in his armchair with only the fire as a light source. The flames illuminated the man and yet cast shadows that seemed to dance over his well tanned skin. 

Will was amazed he never managed to get charcoal and graphite over his hands or god forbid, the white sleeves of the open collard button up he was wearing as he sketched. Although Will supposed he shouldn’t be too awe struck, mess only seemed to cling to Hannibal when he permitted it to. On the other hand Will had a feeling that if he even touched graphite it would spread all over his green shirt and khaki shorts. He simply wasn’t as elegant as Hannibal seemed to innately be. Though his husband didn’t seem to mind.

The younger man opened his mouth before closing it again. Will ran his tongue over his lips as he turned the words over in his head, trying to determine how best to proceed. This was a delicate situation. Hannibal almost never willingly shared pieces of his past with his lover. 

It wasn’t that Hannibal didn’t trust Will or was adamant to the idea of sharing. It was rather that, after their fall and the new life they had begun in Cuba, an unspoken agreement had been made not to dwell on the unpleasant fragments of their past and instead focus on the future ahead of them.

This agreement had held for almost three years with hardly any lapses. There were no mentions of severed ears or glass boxes, only discussions of plans throughout the week and, if Will was feeling particularly vicious, a rude target in the area that was conveniently alone on a certain night. Hannibal never hunted alone anymore.

So this admission was, to put it lightly, a great shock to Will. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, however.

After musing on his words for another moment, Will asked in what he hoped was a casual tone, “Was it your sister?”

It was very difficult to be casual when bringing up your husband’s dead sister.

By the raising of Hannibal’s brows and the maroon eyes moving from the sketchbook to gaze at Will, the younger man had a feeling he failed.

Hannibal did not seem deterred, simply picking his silver scalpel up and taking it across the tip of his charcoal pencil. “Mischa,” Hannibal said carefully, the Lithuanian accent easily rolling over the name he hardly spoke. The scalpel shone in the orange light of the fire, casting a reflection on Hannibal’s face. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Will closed the hard worn cover of The Iliad and held it in his lap, tracing his fingers over the soft edges of the pages as he stared into the fire. “Doctor Du Maurier?,” he tried again, not exactly sure how to continue.

A faint rumbling chuckle made Will turn his gaze back to his husband. Hannibal’s eyes twinkled in amusement as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, clearly humored by Will’s attempts. “Are you just going to list everyone you know I’ve had some semblance of a relationship with, mylimasis?,” Hannibal questioned teasingly, setting the scalpel back on the arm of his chair and proceeding to draw again.

His husband seemed to take great joy in teasing Will, although he couldn’t blame him, Will did the same much of the time.

Will huffed, shifting on the loveseat. “It’s not a very long list, Hannibal,” Will accused. The younger man folded his arms on the loveseat’s arm and leaned over so he could peer upwards at Hannibal’s handsome face. “Especially since up until now I was quite certain you would never use the term ‘best friend’.” Will put a hand to his chest in a mocking manner, tilting his head back and speaking in dramatic tone. “Too juvenile.”

Hannibal did the refined European man equivalent of rolling his eyes, darting his eyes to the side and pursing his lips. “Is this because I never referred to you as my boyfriend?,” Hannibal asked, tapping his finger on the edge of his sketchbook paper.

Will grinned, eyes scrunching and glimmering with humor. “Maybe,” he admitted slowly, going back to leaning closer to Hannibal. “To be fair, there wasn’t a long period in which we weren’t married.” Will reached out his hand to tuck a stray piece of ashen blond hair behind Hannibal’s ear. The silver and gold ring adorning his hand caught the light of the fire with the motion, softening Will’s smile.

If he remembered correctly, there were only a few months settled into their new home when Hannibal set a pair of rings on Will’s fly fishing workbench while his lover had his hands full of string and said “Will. Would you like to get married?”.

It wasn’t the most standard of proposals, but it got the job done, time was of the essence and the couple had never been one to follow the traditional way of being in a relationship anyway.

The calloused fingers of his husband caught Will’s hand before he could pull back, not that he had any intention of doing so. Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will’s scarred knuckles without taking his eyes off of his open sketchbook. “No. There was not,” Hannibal murmured in agreement against the warm skin of Will’s hand. Their rings pressed together as the doctor brought their hands down to rest upon the arm of the chair. “I have felt affection for very few people in my lifetime,” Hannibal said softly, tapping the charcoal pencil in his other hand gently against the yellowed paper. “And even fewer times has it been enough to make me classify them as a relationship I had been willing to make sacrifices to preserve.”

Will could count on one hand the amount of people he thought Hannibal had loved. Apparently he was one off, but it was still a low number.

The man’s blue eyes studied Hannibal’s thoughtful features. He loved Hannibal, deeply and truly. It was easy to forget how much someone meant to you when you spent every day in their presence. However Will was reminded of how much he wanted Hannibal to be happy in this moment, as he had a feeling the story was not found to end in happiness. Hannibal’s stories rarely did.

Will ran his thumb over Hannibal’s ring as he lowered his stare to their joined hands. “What happened to them?,” he asked softly. Perhaps he should have taken a more delicate approach and asked that later. But it was Hannibal’s job to be delicate, and Will’s job to be forward.

Hannibal’s lips opened with a soft smack. At some point he had stopped looking at his artwork and was examining the fire. “She died,” he said quietly. Hannibal’s head tilted back with a quiet sigh. There was no trace of regrets in his features the Will could see, nor any sorrow. Hannibal was good at that. He didn’t hide his emotions, not from Will, but the man was good at controlling them, it was very rare that he let himself feel anything he did not want to. Will was the one exception to that, he supposed.

The flashing silver and gold of their wedding rings seemed a stark contrast to the morbid conversation. 

Before Will could let an “I’m sorry” fall from his lips, Hannibal continued.

“I loved her,” he admitted in a normal tone. “But she did not feel the same way.” Hannibal returned Will’s gentle caressing across his palm and squeezed his husband’s hand. “I was young. And foolish enough to believe that she would hold me in as high regard as I did her.” His brows furrowed, lips pressed tightly together as if deeply in thought. “I don’t regret confessing. Nor do I regret what happened to her, despite the affections I held.”

Will lifted his face up to tilt in head in curiosity. “You don’t?,” he echoed. He did not bother asking if Hannibal killed her. Hannibal rarely spoke about his victims in that sort of regard. And it didn’t really matter to Will either way. Will didn’t even need to know her name. His husband was sharing his past and that was enough for Will. 

The smallest shake of Hannibal’s head, strands of hair falling to frame his elegant face. “I do not,” he repeated. 

Will was willing to let the conversation end there and would perhaps share a piece of his own history the next night. But Hannibal placed his pencil to the side and cupped Will’s face, smiling gently at him. 

He leaned into the touch as if it was second nature, and in a way, it was. Will would always reach for Hannibal, just as Hannibal would always reach for him. Will couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

“Perhaps I would not have met you if anything from my past had not occurred,” Hannibal explained slowly. He brought Will’s face closer to his own, their noses brushing against one another as Hannibal’s smile widened. “And I would not trade you for anything, my love.”

Will returned the reverent kiss as lovingly as Hannibal gave it, only pulling away when the need to breath overtook him.

Accusingly Will looked up at Hannibal with a disingenuous scowl on his face. “Was that just a long winded way of telling me you love me?,” Will criticized, pressing his forehead against Hannibal’s with furrowed brows but eyes still shining.

Hannibal laughed, deep and resounding, making Will’s chest grow warm with the vast amount of just how much he loved this man. 

“Perhaps,” Hannibal conceded, pressing his lips to the corner of Will’s mouth, moving to his cheeks and then his forehead. “Am I not allowed to confess how much my beloved husband means to me?”

Will rolled his eyes, bringing the hand that wasn’t still intertwined with Hannibal’s fingers to the back of Hannibal’s head. “Of course you are,” Will said in a faux exasperated tone as he ran his fingers through the fine silken strands of Hannibal’s hair. “You know I never tire of hearing it. But must everything be so convoluted with you, Hannibal?”

Hannibal kissed Will again, smiling all the while he placed the sketchbook on the end table with his scalpel and pencil, tugging Will up to his feet by their conjoined hands and pulling him close. 

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, dear Will,” Hannibal pointed out gently, hand moving from Will’s face to the small of his back in their embrace.

Flickering flames cast light on the open pages of Hannibal’s beloved sketchbook. The black lines of charcoal swirled and scratched on the surface of the yellow paper, creating a large image entirely by the ex surgeon’s hands. 

Will Graham-Lecter, adorned with Wild Sweet Williams and Camelia Lilies sitting on the edge of a lake that would have been glimmering blue had the image been in color. A flowing robe furled around his form as his face was turned to stare the lake. Even with a pencil, Hannibal had captured the softness of his features when he was happy in perfect likeness, his drooping eyes and Cupid’s bow lips pulled into a gentle smile. 

He was lovely, just as Hannibal always saw him, no matter how he looked. The only person Hannibal had loved in such a way, and the only one he ever would. No past would change that.

“No. I wouldn’t.”


End file.
